Page 6 of Breakaway Goals

“There room for one more?” Hayes was surprised to see Jacob Braun approach their table. They’d taken over several of the booths. He could’ve stayed separated from Morgan pretty easily.

Hayes wasn’t the only one, either. There was a wide range of reactions—from shock to apprehension—on all their faces as Jacob shifted from one foot to the other.

Morgan glanced over at Jacob, looking annoyed but not murderous.

Bram’s voice was full of straight-up worry when he nudged Jacob. “You sure, man?”

“We’re all teammates here,” Jacob said, and Morgan made a face.

And yeah, Hayes liked Jacob—at least when they were wearing the same stars and stripes, not really when he denied him goal after goal—but he could see a little where Morgan was coming from. There was a smug kind of superiority in Jacob’s voice. Like he liked being the better man.

“Yeah, we are,” Morgan said after a long, fraught pause. He slid one of his beers over in front of Jacob. “Great game. Have a beer.”

Jacob’s fingers curled around the bottle. “Thanks.”

“See?” Morgan said, turning back to the table, grinning, his own brand of smugness radiating out of him. “Danny is the asshole.”

“Said like there can only be one,” Calvin muttered.

“Maybe I think all of you are assholes,” Noah agreed.

“Monty isn’t. He’s too sweet,” Bram said, reaching over and pinching his cheek.

Hayes laughed.

“Oh, he’s plenty bitchy when he wants to be,” Morgan said, and their eyes met again.

Something jolted deep inside Hayes. There was no real reason for Morgan to keep looking at him like this, but he kept doing it. Over and over. A whole tableful of hockey players, and Morgan knew all of them. Had played with and against them for years, but he seemed to only have eyes for Hayes.

He’d even looked away from Jacob, like once he’d made his peace offering, the guy didn’t even matter.

“I’m telling you, it’s nice to have those magic hands directed at the other goal instead of at me,” Jacob said, gesturing towards Hayes.

“No kidding,” Bram said. “That fucking pass?”

“I thought the goal was way better than the pass,” Hayes said quietly.

Morgan chuckled. “You would.”

“Monty’s got no ego, it’s kind of ridiculous,” Danny teased, ruffling Hayes’ hair, still damp from his post-game shower. Hayes resisted the urge to fix it, because what did it matter how shitty it looked? These were teammates, not potential hookups.

“That’s cute, too,” Calvin said, but his tone was affectionate.

Hayes wasn’t particularly happy with the adjective they kept settling on, but what did it matter? He wasn’t trying to be sexy for these guys. He never wanted any of them to want him—or for him to want them in return. He’d smartly kept his sex life far, far away from hockey.

“I still wanna know how you knew Mo was there,” Noah said.

Hayes shrugged. “I knew I had to go to someone else. They were about to converge on me and I couldn’t keep the puck. I could pass it to Danny or send it to Mo. And I thought if I made a move—Mo’s been around a long time. I had to assume he’d figure out what I was doing.”

“Aw,” Danny said, wrapping a big arm around Hayes’ shoulders. “I’d have figured it out, Monty.”

“Ten seconds too late,” Hayes pointed out sweetly.

Danny just laughed. He could be an asshole, no question about it, but considering his rep, Hayes was surprised at how little ego he really had.

“Yeah, probably,” he agreed.

The whole table didn’t stick together very long. Calvin and Noah went to the bar to get something stronger than beer. Danny left to talk to Walter, one of the defensive guys at the other table. Even Bram and Jacob found a quiet corner to chat in, leaving just Morgan and Hayes in the booth.

Hayes shifted awkwardly on the bench seat as Morgan finished his beer and then pushed the bottle aside.

“I meant it, you know,” Morgan said, turning to him.

Hayes wanted him to mean all of it—the compliments to his game, the entreaties, the looks, and that strange, unexpected heat that had bloomed between them in that empty hallway.

But he had a feeling he knew what Morgan meant.

“It was a good pass, but a sick goal,” Hayes argued. “You didn’t even think before you shot it.”

“If I’d waited, they’d have been on me and blocked the angle,” Morgan said matter-of-factly. “Sometimes hockey is about thinking, but sometimes you gotta just take the shot.”

Morgan’s gaze was knowing and warm on Hayes’ face. “Like you did,” he continued. “You made the play. Didn’t overthink it. Or worry about making it happen. Or what might happen if you didn’t.”

“Yeah.” That was true. He’d shed all that bullshit like a snake shed its skin. Left it behind and refused to let himself pick it up again.

“You don’t usually worry about that shit,” Morgan stated, didn’t ask, as he slumped farther into the booth, arm lifting to the top of the cushion. There was still a good few feet between them. But even though they weren’t touching, Hayes swore he could feel the heat from Morgan’s touch.

“How do you know that?” Hayes asked, only to be contrary. Yeah, Morgan might be kind of an asshole, but what was most annoying about him was that smug certainty he wore like a cloak.

Morgan shot him a look. “Because you don’t. You know what you’re capable of and you do it, regularly. When we play each other. When I watch other games. But you froze today.”

Ugh, Hayes didn’t want Morgan to bring up the jerking off theory again.

It had been humiliating enough the first time.

“It’s not you,” Hayes claimed.

Morgan’s eyebrow rose. “No?”

“It’s not,” Hayes stressed.

“So you didn’t have a poster of me above your bed.”

He’d had two , actually, but he wasn’t telling Morgan about the contents of his childhood bedroom.

“Of course not,” Hayes blustered.

Morgan slid a few inches closer. Hayes swore he felt the brush of Morgan’s fingertips on the fluffy ends of his hair. “You’re lying. You said it in an interview, once.”

Hayes’ pulse picked up. “And you remembered that?”

“The chosen one is supposed to keep an eye on all-comers,” Morgan said wryly, making a face.

“You hate it as much as I do,” Hayes said, suddenly realizing how true that was.

“’Course I do. The moment you’re on top, there’s always someone who’s younger and better and hungrier than you coming to knock you down.”

Hayes was all too familiar with that phenomenon. He’d been hearing about some kid headed to the US developmental program, the oldest of three hockey-playing brothers, who everyone thought was going to be the next generational player.

Hayes had wanted to scream that his generation was only in their early to mid-twenties and he’d barely gotten a chance to do anything, yet. He hadn’t lifted the Cup yet, but he could already taste the silver when he licked his bottom lip.

So he got it.

It wasn’t fair, but then so much of this just wasn’t fucking fair.

“It sucks,” Hayes agreed.

“I even want to hate you, a little bit,” Morgan admitted. There was a flash of shame in his eyes before he looked away. “But Danny’s right. You’re cute.”

“I’m not sure that’s any better than being an asshole,” Hayes muttered. He didn’t want Morgan Reynolds to think he was cute . He also didn’t want him to think he was hot, because what the fuck could even happen if he did?

Also, he reminded himself, Morgan Reynolds doesn’t think men are hot. Cute’s allowed. Cute’s straight enough.

“Don’t change, okay? Don’t let this . . .” Morgan huffed out a breath. “All this fucking bullshit pressure and media narratives and always looking over your shoulder change you, okay?”

Hayes didn’t want to know what he meant, but he did, a little too well.

There’d been a picture circulating that he’d tried not to see but had been nearly impossible to avoid: four figures superimposed next to each other.

Gretzky, Morgan, him, and the oldest Barnes brother, who was still so young he had yet to lose his baby face.

“I’ll try,” he said.

Morgan nodded. “Good. Or the next time we play each other I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Like you could,” Hayes scoffed. But Morgan probably could, even at thirty-five. He’d looked sharp out there in the game today, skating as well as guys years younger than him.

“Come on, superstar,” Morgan teased, nudging him with a shoulder when he yawned into his beer. “It’s getting late. We should probably get some sleep. I’m gonna round up everyone else.”

They slid out of the booth, but Danny gave them a side eye when they wandered over to their group, mingled over by the bar.

“Time to call it a night,” Morgan announced, and that was definitely his Captain voice, and Hayes definitely didn’t find it hot. At all.

“You two eager to go to bed?” Danny asked slyly.

As far as Hayes knew, Danny didn’t know for sure about him—not many people did, though he supposed he could count Morgan among the enlightened—so this was just regular run-of-the-mill heckling.

That he could handle.

“Some of us like our beauty sleep,” Hayes said, pasting a faux-innocent look on his face as Morgan laughed and Danny’s jaw dropped.

He didn’t stay outraged for long, because that wasn’t Danny’s kind of thing. He met outrage with something even more outrageous.

“See? Cute ,” Danny teased, squeezing him. “No wonder you like him, Cap.”

“Never said I did,” Morgan grumbled, but he met Hayes’ eyes and Hayes realized he didn’t have to say it because he did . Maybe not like Hayes had always secretly, ludicrously hoped might be true—but this was enough. Of course it was enough.

Because if Morgan liked him like that, then Hayes would have to figure out how to break his lifelong, ironclad promise to himself that he’d never fall in love with another hockey player.

“Didn’t have to, Mo,” Danny joked. “Alright. I’ll get everyone together.”

It took ten minutes for Danny to convince the team to close out their tabs and head outside into the cool air.

The bar was only a few blocks from the hotel, and Hayes hoped the chill might clear his head, help him look away from where Morgan was chatting with Bram and Calvin.

It didn’t quite work, so he slipped to the back of the group, glad not for the first time that he could be unobtrusive.

He glanced at his phone. Zach had texted him. You gonna ever come down from that assist?

Hayes smiled. No , was all he said, because Zach would get it. Zach always got it.

Before Zach could text him back, they were at the hotel, streaming as a big group into the lobby. Some of the team got distracted by the fact that the lobby bar was still open.

But Hayes was done for the night and slipped off towards the bay of elevators, pressing the up button.

“These idiots forget we’ve got a practice tomorrow.”

Hayes looked over, surprised to see Morgan standing there, wry smile on his face.

“I didn’t forget,” Hayes said.

They exchanged knowing looks, already anticipating how hungover and cranky three quarters of the team was going to be tomorrow morning.

The elevator dinged open, and Hayes almost wanted to say, let’s hold it, in case any of these idiots come to their senses, but that would mean admitting—even to himself—that he didn’t want to share a private space with Morgan.

Morgan rested against the back of the elevator. Hayes glanced back at him. “Same floor?” he asked, after pressing seven.

Morgan shook his head. “I’m on eight.”

“Alright. Okay.” Hayes hit eight. Tried to even out his breathing and not look.

He even stupidly thought Morgan might appreciate that, but Morgan clearly didn’t, because he caught his attention, again. “You want to grab breakfast together?”

Hayes’ breath caught. He kept trying to put some space between them, but Morgan kept closing it.

Kept pushing right into it.

“Uh. Yeah. Sure.”

The floors ticked by. Hayes’ breath felt caught in his throat, his gaze tangled with Morgan’s. His hazel eyes were steady, but intent.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll meet you downstairs at eight.”

Hayes nodded.

Morgan chuckled a little under his breath, like he knew what Hayes was trying to do. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t .

“That really was a great pass, you know?” Morgan said absently.

Hayes’ throat went dry. “Thanks.”

He didn’t want to make conversation. He wanted to stay silent until the elevator reached his floor. Until he could get to his room and scream into his pillow like the thirteen-year-old he wasn’t anymore.

“You’re something else,” Morgan said.

“Not what you were saying earlier.”

Morgan shrugged. “You needed a reminder. That’s all.”

That hadn’t been all, and Hayes knew Morgan wasn’t stupid enough to think that was true.

“I—”

“It’s all good. Really.” Morgan reached out and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, squeezed.

Awareness prickled across Hayes’ skin. This is what he’d do to anyone.

To Noah. To Calvin. Even to Danny. But then Morgan’s touch lingered a second too long, only disappearing when the elevator finally came to a stop on Hayes’ floor.

Hayes wanted to yell that he’d wanted it before, but now he was wishing he could stay. But there was no reason to stay. This was his floor.

“I . . .uh . . .I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then,” Hayes said, meeting that frank gaze one more time before he tore his eyes away and walked off the elevator.

Before he did something he would—and wouldn’t—regret.